


Getting Together

by i_was_you



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Low Chaos Ending, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_you/pseuds/i_was_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sokolov has fallen for Piero and hard. Piero likes him back. Too bad they're both idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Together

**Author's Note:**

> This plotbunny has been bothering me for far too long. I make no apologies.

“Look, if we use a lens like that here,” Piero said, pointing at the blueprint. His finger circled the area in a neat little motion. Sokolov smoothed his beard and nodded enthusiastically, taking a who-knew-how-many-th sip of wine. "With a Vince's lens here, that would..." He never got to finish his sentence, as his hand brushed against another. Sokolov froze, his hand on Piero's thin hand. The hand underneath his own was chilly and knobbly, all thin fingers and knuckles, but curiously, he didn't want to let go. His eyes found Piero's. Shy, watery, red-rimmed eyes behind thick, round glasses, and yet he found that he quite liked them. He had seen them crinkle with joy, widen in shock, close with peaceful sleep after a long debate.

 

Without noticing, he had spent a lot of time watching Piero’s eyes. Now they stared back at him, round and wide.

 

"Sokolov?" Piero's thin and chapped lips were so close to his own. Sokolov couldn't take it any longer. He leaned forwards, crashing his mouth on Piero's. The man's lips were dry, but Sokolov didn't care. His heart raced as if he was twenty years younger. It was the stupidest, maddest thing he had ever done, and he was about to pull back and apologize when he felt the thin lips part slightly, tentatively. Invitingly. Sokolov took the invitation and gently deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue against Piero's lips and teeth. Piero tasted of the wine they had been drinking, of warmth and home. For a moment Piero stayed frozen, but then Sokolov felt a warm tongue slide against his own. Their teeth clashed together as Piero pressed closer. Sokolov's free hand crept up on a stubbled cheek and he caressed it as he let momentum build between them.

 

Somehow they fell upon the sofa. Sokolov found himself on top of Piero, felt thin hands grasp the back of his coat. It was then he realised the kiss had ended, and he leaned in again to claim Piero's mouth. Piero moaned into the kiss, hands rubbing Sokolov's back deliciously. Emboldened, Sokolov let his hands snake down on Piero’s sides and bony hips.

 

It was then Sokolov realized he was hard. Not just him, either. Piero looked embarrassed underneath him, turning his face to the side and blushing. “Ah, I’m--” the man started, but Sokolov shut him up with a kiss.

 

His hand crept to the waistline of Piero’s trousers, flirting with the buckle of his belt. Piero nodded slowly, and Sokolov fiddled the belt open, then the trousers, and slipped his hand in. Piero’s eyes rolled closed and he gasped audibly as Sokolov grabbed him, and his hands squeezed into fists on Sokolov’s coat.

 

Piero was coming undone underneath him and it was exquisite. The younger man ground his hips against Sokolov’s hand, making his breath hitch in rhythm. Sokolov groaned and dipped his head to kiss Piero’s neck, messily, and Piero gasped and whined as he bit down and sucked to leave a mark. Piero’s breathing became more ragged, his movements more and more desperate until finally, he moaned and Sokolov felt warm, sticky liquid spread over his fingers.

 

That was too much for him, and he came into his own trousers with a grunt. For a moment, both men simply lay there. Sokolov remembered himself and slowly, reluctantly rose, extricating his hand from Piero’s trousers. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and started cleaning his fingers quietly. What had he done? Piero wasn’t… He wasn’t a conquest, he was a colleague and a _friend_ , for Outsider’s sake!

 

Piero rose from the sofa, cheeks still red. He glanced at Sokolov. “Uh, good night…” he whispered and fled from the room. Sokolov sat still, feeling cold. He started to pour himself another glass of wine, but stopped, staring at the bottle before lifting it to his lips. Damnation!

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sokolov woke from the sofa. The wine bottle was empty and lay on the floor next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He groaned. His head hurt and his trousers were a sticky mess. The clock on the wall said it was getting close to eleven. Better get to work, then… Sokolov made his way to his quarters. A quick, ice-cold wash later, he was ready to face Piero. Hopefully the man wasn’t too mad at him. Maybe Sokolov could blame everything on drinking way too much? He sighed and shook his head. No, better man up and confess and beg for forgiveness. Well, maybe not beg. At least, not on his knees.

 

Piero was in the laboratory, bent over a desk covered in calculations and notes. Sokolov cleared his throat as he entered, and the younger man turned to look. “Er, about yesterday…” Sokolov ran a hand through his hair. Piero blushed and turned back to his notes, mumbling something. Sokolov took a step closer and frowned. “Sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Piero said a little louder, twisting a note in his hands. “I, er, you were drunk and I thought…” his voice died off again.

“No, I shouldn’t have… You are a valued colleague and…”

“It was ungentlemanly of me to run off like that…” They were speaking at the same time, over each other’s voices. Sokolov stopped and stared at Piero.

“Wait, what are you saying?”

Piero’s thin fingers had torn the note into tiny little pieces that fluttered onto the floor. “I, I should have stayed yesterday. I just have… little experience with things like… that, so I panicked.” He looked into Sokolov’s eyes nervously. Sokolov stared back.

“What are you saying?” he repeated. “ _I_ took advantage of _you_. I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry. You are a valued colleague and a friend, and I...”

 

Piero swallowed and looked so crestfallen Sokolov wanted to gather the man into his arms. What had he said wrong? That wasn’t a very eloquent apology, he knew, but he hadn’t thought it was _that_ bad. Piero bit his lip. “I see,” he whispered and turned suddenly back to his notes, leaving Sokolov standing there.

 

Sokolov opened and closed his mouth, irritated. He hadn’t expected that kind of a reaction. Anger, yes. Sad resignation, no. “Look, I was drunk and I didn’t mean anything by it. Can we please let bygones be bygones?” Sokolov tried again and immediately regretted it as he saw Piero’s shoulders shake and heard a quiet little sob. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Take a step forwards and touch Piero’s shoulder? Run from the room?

 

Piero mumbled something. “Sorry?”

“So you don’t want me?” Piero’s voice was high and a little louder than necessary. Sokolov blinked slowly, his eyebrows creeping upwards to his hairline. “Nobody ever does.” That came in a wavering sob, and Sokolov took a step forwards. “I… I thought it was rather nice…” Piero whispered.

 

Sokolov touched Piero’s shoulder. “Of course I want you,” he said gently. His heart raced and his palms were sweaty. Sokolov had never confessed his feelings to anyone like that. Maids and prostitutes didn’t care about his feelings; neither did he. But Piero was no maid nor whore. He deserved to know, especially after last night.

 

Piero turned around. His eyes had welled up and his cheeks were red. “I want you,” Sokolov repeated softly. His own face was burning, now. He felt like a damned academy student again, nervous and unsure.

Piero smiled. “I want you too,” he said.

“Tonight,” Sokolov growled. Piero nodded. Sokolov debated whether or not he should pull Piero into a kiss, but decided against it. Now was a time for professionalism and invention.

 

* * *

 

As the last rays of the sun sank over the horizon, Sokolov tapped Piero’s shoulder. “I think we can call it for the night,” he said. Piero lifted his gaze from his calculations and nodded. His stomach rumbled and Sokolov smirked at him.

The two made their way downstairs. Dinner passed in a comfortably tense silence; Sokolov smiled at Piero over his glass and Piero blushed but smiled back.

 

* * *

 

“Nervous?” Sokolov asked as he stripped off his shirt, letting it fall on the floor. Piero was still fiddling with the buttons of his jacket.

“Extremely,” came the soft reply. Sokolov stepped out of his trousers and lay naked on the bed, watching as Piero slowly inched out of his clothes and stood in front of the bed in his underthings. The man was blushing, now, his eyes darting at Sokolov’s growing hardness.

“Come on,” Sokolov called, opening his arms. Piero shook off his last garments, placed his glasses on a bedside table and crept into the bed on all fours. He was sparsely haired - a contrast to Sokolov, who was a bear of a man - and wiry, almost too thin, and pale. Sokolov swallowed and grinned at Piero as he came nose-to-nose over him, into his arms, and pulled him down for a long, deep kiss.

 

As the kiss ended, Piero looked nervous. “How do we, er, do this?”

 

_He really is innocent_ , Sokolov thought. Outwardly, he grinned and kissed Piero’s nose. “Any way we want.” He was warm, a furnace for Piero to snuggle into in the cool room. Piero was chilly, his toes cold as they touched Sokolov's shins. Sokolov tutted and embraced him, hands making circular motions over Piero’s bony back before sliding on his buttocks and squeezing them. Piero looked shocked for a moment, but then he grinned and ground himself against Sokolov.

 

They rutted against each other, heat growing between the two of them. Gasps and hitched breaths filled the air, and Sokolov craned his neck to kiss Piero’s jaw, his cheek, his mouth until he felt like he couldn’t take it any more. “Inside,” he growled. Piero stopped and looked questioningly at Sokolov. “You. Inside of me, now,” Sokolov panted. He could see when realization hit Piero; the man’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose turned crimson.

 

Sokolov stretched out his hand and fished around his bedside table until he found a bottle of oil. He uncorked it with shaky hands and poured some of the oil into his palm while Piero watched with round eyes, then reached between Piero’s legs with his oiled hand. The yelp Piero gave as he spread the oil was all too delicious, and Sokolov couldn’t help laughing and kissing him. Piero looked down as Sokolov wrapped his legs around his thin waist. “Are you sure?” Sokolov nodded and nudged Piero’s hips closer. “Then, um, here I come…”

 

Sokolov grunted as Piero pressed in slowly. He was bigger than he had estimated, and he grimaced at the twinge of pain. Piero looked worried and stopped; Sokolov shook his head. “Don’t stop.” He bit down on a bony shoulder to distract himself from the slight pain and sucked. Piero whimpered and sank into him, hands squeezing his shoulders.

“It’s, it’s nice,” Piero gasped and rocked gently against Sokolov, who moaned and arched his back. Piero’s clumsy thrusts were almost hitting him in the right spot, and it was frustrating to be so close and yet so far.

“Harder,” Sokolov groaned, slipping a hand between the two of them and touching himself. The next thrust hit him right there. His eyes rolled close; he came between their joined bodies. “Gah!”

 

He could hear Piero’s ragged breathing next to his ear, feel his movements grow more and more desperate until Piero plunged in one last time, deep, and whimpered, “A-Anton.” For a moment, Piero simply lay on top of him, panting, while Sokolov thought to himself _did he really call out my name_ , feeling warm. Then he rolled to the side, hands still on Sokolov’s shoulders, and Sokolov wrapped his hairy arms around Piero’s thin body. Piero lay his head on Sokolov’s shoulder and kissed his neck through the thick beard. Sokolov cleared his throat. “I, erm, wouldn’t object to waking up next to you on a regular basis,” he said quickly, glancing at Piero’s sleepy face.

 

“Mm-hmm? I would not object to that either,” Piero mumbled and yawned. Sokolov hoped he was too tired to notice that his heart was racing again with happiness. He reached for the blankets and pulled them over both Piero and himself, then embraced Piero again. Soon enough, both men were asleep and for once, they slept without nightmares.


End file.
